


The Wildwood

by Lothiriel84



Series: SOL: A Self-Banishment Ritual [2]
Category: The Bunker (Podcast)
Genre: Backstory, Emotional Baggage, Forced Cohabitation, Gen, I Don't Even Know, M/M, Past Relationship(s), Smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-15
Updated: 2020-04-15
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:34:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23669230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lothiriel84/pseuds/Lothiriel84
Summary: All the ghosts you felt so certain ofWere they just a dream of childhood?Have you woken, have you heard enoughOr are we finally in the wildwood?
Relationships: David Knight & David Price (The Bunker)
Series: SOL: A Self-Banishment Ritual [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1704295





	The Wildwood

Human memory is unreliable, he knows as much. All he’s left with is a handful of scattered moments, hazy and mismatched, gradually crumbling into dust slipping through his fingers.

He remembers coming home from his first day at ‘The Bunker’, as his new colleagues jokingly referred to their underground headquarters; how proud he felt to be a part of such a prominent corporation as Happiness Inc., and the way his wife had ruffled his hair when he awkwardly admitted to finding one of his associates almost unbearably attractive.

 _You should invite him round for dinner, darling_ , she had teased him, affectionately. _What’s his name?_

 _When did I say he was a man?_ he had frowned, glaring at their dog who was silently begging to be allowed onto the sofa with them.

_You didn’t need to. With any luck, he’ll bring along an attractive girlfriend, too._

_You’re the worst_ , he had scowled at her, getting an indulgent kiss on his forehead for his troubles. He was three hundred back then, he was in love, and everything was right in the world.

They never invited Dave around for dinner, in the end. He didn’t think it was a good idea, and besides, he wasn’t the kind of man who makes friends easily, or, at all. Not that he is now, but they’ve been stuck in here for so long he’s come to grudgingly accept his surviving companions as his responsibility to look after, whether he wants it or not.

As horrifying as hitting another human being had felt at first, he’s managed to talk himself round to it, mostly; Dave was significantly calmer, afterwards, if not entirely back to his usual self just yet. Taking charge doesn’t come naturally to him, it never did; still, it appears to be his best option for making things happen in exactly the way he wants, which is the only sensible way to go about their daily existence in this nightmare of a post-civilisation world, if you ask him.

Take their newly introduced tea and biscuits routine, for instance; it’s not so much that he looks forward to spending more time than strictly necessary with his enforced flatmates, as it is a strategic initiative which has proved to be surprisingly effective in ensuring those two idiots remember to feed themselves at reasonable intervals, particularly in light of last week’s fainting incident with Dave.

“Stop nicking all the custard creams, man,” Tom complains, even as Dave shoves the stolen biscuit into his mouth.

“Talk about herding cats,” he grumbles, snatching the biscuit tin away from both contenders. “If you’re planning to behave like squabbling children, I’ll lock this up and take away the key.”

“Remind us again, who died and put you in charge?” Dave challenges him, though he sounds more listless than confrontational.

“The other morons who used to live down here with us,” he snaps, and puts the lid back on the tin. “That’s who.”

“Hey! Don’t talk about them like that. They were our friends.”

“Friends,” he scoffs, glaring at Tom’s left ear for good measure. “We were colleagues, at best.”

“Right. I need a smoke,” Dave announces, clunking his half-empty mug into the sink. In the deafening silence that follows, Tom shoots a nervous glance in David’s general direction, who merely sighs by way of a response, and gets up in turn.

When he catches up with Dave, he’s perched precariously on the bunker rooftop, puffing away at a cigarette. At least he has enough sense to shield the smouldering tip between his palms so that the savages out there won’t be tempted to use him as a shooting target, just for the fun of it.

“If you’ve come up here to lecture me on yet another of your stupid rules,” Dave starts, only to trail off with a half-hearted shrug. “Actually, I don’t care.”

David counts mentally down from ten, then rummages his pockets for a crumpled packet of contraband cigarettes. He lights one, takes a deep drag on it, and closes his eyes.

“Did I ever mention I used to fancy you, way back when? My wife seemed to find it amusing, I never quite understood why.”

Dave nearly chokes around a mouthful of smoke, coughs repeatedly before finding his voice, eventually. “You what?”

“I know, right?” he jokes, humourlessly, staring at the tip of his own cigarette. He should never have told him, but as it appears to have worked in snapping Dave out of his apathy, albeit temporarily, he supposes he’s going to call it a draw.

Dave looks out into the distance for a few minutes, then puts his cigarette out by crushing it under his foot. David half braces himself for being shoved past as Dave makes a hasty retreat down the hatch; the other man, however, merely steps directly in front of him, snatches the smouldering cigarette from his fingers, and throws it away.

“Hey,” he protests, irritably – cigarettes are precious commodities, and there’s no call for needlessly wasting them like that – only to be abruptly cut off by Dave yanking him down to his level, their mouths clashing almost painfully, then considerably less so.

“Hmm. You’re not all that bad,” Dave remarks at length, his lips almost but not quite curled into a smirk. “You should put this down somewhere in your ridiculous list.”

“Not a chance,” he clears his throat, feigning something close enough to unaffectedness. Coke help him, he wants to do it again – which is a terminally bad idea, as he’s only too aware.

Dave appears to be searching his face for an interminable moment – what for, exactly, he cannot tell. “Well, you know where to find me,” Dave shrugs, his voice carefully void of potentially compromising emotions. “I wouldn’t say no.”

With that, he’s gone, leaving David to wonder what the hell just happened. Nothing about their exchange makes any sense to him, but then again, he’s never been any good with people, either.

His fingers only shake a little as he fishes for another cigarette, lights it, and sets out to enjoy the fleeting pleasure of a good nicotine rush.


End file.
